I admit that I spend too much time worrying. I worry about the lack of water here. I worry about the possibility of a fire that could wipe out our studio and harm the animals. I worry about the neighbors who can’t be bothered to cut the weeds surrounding their house. I worry too much and it does me no good. Better to travel and think about other things.
I was at a train station in Portugal, waiting to switch lines. A group of old men were playing cards and drinking wine at an outdoor table in front of the station. Then this black cat crossed the tracks and approached the card players. I wondered what my cats were doing. I wondered if they were playing with their little dog friend, Moodle.
(Above - My painting of Moodle standing in front of the Alvarez farm on Boggs Road)
Moodle loves to play as much as I love to travel by train in Portugal. We both love the adventure and the excitement and the possibilities that these activities present. Moodle likes cats as much as she likes dogs. I wonder if she even knows the difference. I like people, all people, and I’m not sure that I can tell the difference from my perspective. They all live and breathe and desire food, shelter and love. To me, they are all equal and deserving respect as a “given”.
There is a woman in red at the station. I can’t help to stare. As an artist, it is my duty to examine everyone and everything, to watch how the folds of their clothes cast shadows, to guess at the reason for the lines on their faces, to listen for their voices and watch as their mouths reveal what language they are speaking.
(Above - My painting of the Rail Station at Alcantarilha, Portugal)
Moodle watches everyone in the dog run and all the cats who dare enter. She weighs about 5 pounds and I used to carry her in my laptop bag. The woman in red has a laptop bag. I wonder what she will write about when she gets on the train to Spain. I imagine she is a life coach and her name is Sagrario. She will write from the heart and be very creative with her non-fiction. All this passes quickly through my mind. But maybe her name is Anastasia and she is a Swedish botanist? What do I know?
Moodle also assesses every person who enters the yard. On hot days (now it is over 40C everyday) she lies in the shade and carefully studies the people who come and go. The Fedex man, an overdressed pedestrian wearing a hoodie, an exasperated Amazon delivery woman who is clearly lost. But no woman in red. She is in Portugal at the moment, about to write a blog involving life decisions. Her writing will follow the path of a butterfly, touching down on this flower, ignoring that plant, taking a sip from a water dish, then flying off to some distant meadow. Moodle saw her take that sip of water, but doesn’t get up. It is Moodle’s water dish and she is willing to share. And besides it is 105F and she doesn’t want to get up from the shade she has claimed. And so, after all, it is Sagrario, and she does write in the style of a butterfly in motion, twisting, turning, her path never the same and always interesting. And personal. And creative. It is her.
(Above - Collaborative painting of Socrates by Phil & Anastasia)
I ask Socrates to confirm this. He is an owl who has suffered an injury and stayed with us for a while. Ben looks after him. I seem to remember that Socrates brought the wedding ring to the alter when Ben was getting married. Moodle watches him. He does, indeed, confirm that the woman in red is Sagrario. And Moodle nods in agreement. Nobody doubts the word of this owl that delivers wedding rings.
I’m on my way to the fish market in the beautiful Algarve. I have a need for fish today. Moodle & Socrates are 8000 miles away, but share my interest in fish. I think Moodle would also like the houses in Algarve. While most are from 1910-1950, some are also from the 1800’s. They suggest Art Deco and like the train station they have tiled roofs. But the roofs are hidden behind the “platibanda”, the decorative bit along the top of the house. Sometimes there is a small terrace or garden behind the platibanda. One never knows what they will find there. It would be a great place for Socrates to rest undetected. But I can clearly see a black and white dog, much like Moodle, casting a purple shadow on the pale-yellow house that I am looking at right now. I think of Moodle and how happy we will be to see each other when I return to California. I smell the Brugmansia Garden that Anastasia has cultivated, and I can taste the Chocolate Earl Grey tea that we will share at sundown. I start to feel homesick.
And then the train arrives for me to switch and finish the trip to Algarve. The woman in red is now sitting at the table where there were formerly card players, She is writing her next blog at https://sagra.substack.com. (You can go read it if you want a bit of relaxing fun.)
Moodle is still lying in the sun and Socrates is now perched on top of the doghouse.
I dream of Furlandia, even when I am in Portugal.
Wow Phil, this is great! Keep on doing this - I really like it!
very surprised and grateful
OMG
Thank you so much
So beautiful